


The Blessed Unrest

by VORACIOUSpng



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, Alternate Universe - Police, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Death, Haunting, M/M, Ohm is kinda poor, Stick with me guys, but it will be okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-03-08 00:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18884554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VORACIOUSpng/pseuds/VORACIOUSpng
Summary: "In a true friendship, sometimes their happiness is more important than yours. But when you truly love someone, sometimes their happiness is more important than your pain."Luke Patterson was what you could easily call happy. He was on his way to becoming one of the more successful UFC fighters of their generation, was finally making headway with his side business, and he had a killer team to back him up with everything. All in all, his life was going great...until it wasn't going at all. Now he was dead, and desperately trying to escape the purgatory he one day finds himself drawn helplessly into.Meanwhile, Ryan Wrecker is what you would call...complicated. He was slowly fading out of the lives of the only people who knew him, was catching extra hours at his job just to stay afloat, and he was alone. Well, when he wasn't being haunted by dead people, he was alone. But that life was alright with him. All he wants is to help people, but he may need to reconsider his life goals when he discovers one ghost he may not be able to set free.OR: The Ohmtoonz ghost au no one asked for but everyone's getting.





	1. Live Like You're Still Alive

Luke sighs and crosses his arms, leaning forward onto the rusted rails in front of him. Behind him is a set of glass sliding doors and a large, empty room. Blank, golden brown eyes scanned the rows of buildings, looking out over the city. It seems that's all he can do now: spectate. He's been up there for longer than he can keep count for, and he can't seem to get down. He felt like a goldfish in a small bowl, stuck watching the humans go about their daily lives.

And, perhaps it was a bit of a pretty fish bowl. The balcony he'd been sitting on was pretty high up, and sprawled before him laid all that Chicago, Illinois had to offer. Luke is, by far, not the most observant person, but by now he's seen all there is to see. During the day, the nearby streets were a blur of cars speeding by and the ant-like figures of people making way down the sidewalks. From how high up he was, he couldn't even see the fashionably large coats and cars that dominated during this time of year due to the climate, just the ant-like figures moving around below him. The summer sun's overpowering rays were shrouded by the thick, grey winter clouds.

During the nights, nearly all the people down below cleared out the streets and all that was left was the chilled breeze against tall glass towers. Checkered light dotted buildings where janitorial crews remained busy decorated the dark sky, while neon signs advertised hotels and bars open late. A pale yellow glow illuminated the once busy roads, reflecting in the semi-melted snow. Muddied and marred crystals splashed onto the curb as the occasional car crept past. It served as a reminder that in a city as big and populated as Chicago, it was never completely quiet. Even in the darkest hour there was always someone on their way home from a late shift, someone walking across a parkway to meet another, someone smoking out on a porch.

All things considered, it actually took him a long while to realize he was dead. But once the signs make themselves known, he only wonders how he didn't figure it out sooner.

It starts with a lady in a nearby apartment complex taking her dog out for a piss. She has her brown hair lazily tied back and his leash loosely in her hands. The dog waddles around for a moment before he finds a grassy corner to go in, and it makes Luke think about how long it's been since he himself went. Then he remembers the last time he's slept, or eaten, or even simply spoken to another person. It's an an awful feeling, realizing your dead, especially when you have to be alive and conscious for it. Well, conscious. And in his many attempts to get somewhere, anywhere but this balcony, he's mostly just expanded his repertoire of different ways to give up. People came and went, but no one stuck around long, or even acknowledged him. 

As he sat and watched the world pass him by, Luke had to wonder why. Why was he just sitting here? What exactly was stopping him from getting down from this accursed ledge? And after a quick moment of consideration, he decided it was nothing. He was leaving.

Or, so he tried. But anytime he attempted to pass from the balcony and into the room behind him, this awful heat in his chest would start up and kick into high gear, filling up the inside of him until it felt like he was drowning in it. The further it went, the worse it would get until it overwhelms his ability to move and he's forced back onto the ledge to relieve it. After a few failed attempts, he dejectedly gave up.

He'd even tried jumping as a means of escape, but it was only once. In an angry fit he'd narrowed his eyes at the ground below, and with a not even a single thought, leaned over the rail and let the sky have him. It didn't work, of course, a fact for which Luke didn't know if he should be happy about or not. He'd flipped through the air once, twice, and three times before he was speeding face first to the ground. It was the most terrifying moment, plummeting to the concrete unnoticed by any people below. Tears from the wind and perhaps something Luke doesn't think about blur his vision pretty strongly, but he can still see himself nearing the ground. At the last possible moment, when it seems the pavement is just grazing his skin, he blacks out. When he wakes up, he's back on the ledge like before, the memory of what feels like years before the only thing occupying his brain.

Luke felt so alone, even though he often found himself in the company of another lonesome stranger. Sometimes people would come out when they rented the party room behind him, for whatever reasons, and bring their odd conversations with them. He'd hear people sigh in defeat at a love not reciprocated while others partied their hearts out inside, or be forced to listen in as people complained about their situations at work or school, oblivious of his own problem.

One time, a guy even came out talking to himself and leaving convenient gaps for Luke to give his opinion, even though the man couldn't have known he was there. He never minded when people came outside, even if they seemed to ignore him or whine about problems that paled in comparison to his own. When you're clearly a ghost, any company is good company.

So, a little while later, Luke isn't too surprised to see a man enter the party room and cross over to the balcony. He wordlessly slides the glass door and step out onto the ledge, staring over at the people below. There is nothing going on in the building, so he must be scouting the area for a party later. However, when the guy's foot makes contact with the balcony Luke hears a snap, like the sound a rubber band when it smacks into your hand. He feels something in his chest reel, the way you would imagine a bullet tearing through your skin, shredding muscles and sensitive tissue until it finally drags its weight out of you. The sensation makes him whip his head back up in alarm.

The man looked as if he was hastily dressed, shiny brown tresses a mess around his head and tattered clothes free in the wind. His face is tense and slightly angry, but if you look past that, he's pretty attractive. Although, he has a sort of rushed air about him, as though a man on a mission.

Luke watches the guy scan the area, ghosting over him like everyone else. He raises a hand to his chest to soothe the odd pain and looks back over the edge to continue his miserable mulling.

It's not until the man takes a particularly sharp inhale that Luke looks over at him again, and this time, soft, hazel eyes are staring directly at him with a frightened intensity. It seems to take the guy a minute, during which he looks as though he wants to say something, but when he realizes what is so wrong he gasps for real. A pale hand reaches out towards the door handle, swiping and missing a few times before he finally gets a grip.

Luke realizes in one elated sweep that the man knows he's there-- _is looking at him_ \--which he says as much as he can in a gasp of his own. He leaps to his feet, and other pales at his reaction, finally gaining his bearings and yanking the door open just wide enough to fit his body through before he throws himself into the room. He doesn't bother with a fleeting glance or even the slightest pause, just slams the door shut so hard the glass rattles in it's frame.

Not about to let his only chance of getting out of his hell escape, Luke reaches for the handle himself, only to phase through it and the door in turn. That feeling makes everything left in his body run cold and rush hot all at the same time. ' _Now that has never happened before,_ ' he thinks, and had to take a moment to appreciate the effortlessness of it, but that time quickly passes. Before, he's never been able to phase through anything else, but before he's never run into anyone who could see him. He's got to catch that person.

"I can't see you!" The guy shouts over his shoulder and makes a break for the stairs rather than the obviously slow elevator. Luke wants to yell something back about the absurdity of that statement, but finds himself consumed with laughter instead. In no way disturbed by Luke's amusement, he rounds a corner at the end of the first set.

"Why are you running from me?" Luke yells back when he gains his composure. He's a little surprised by the volume of his voice, but then again it has been who-knows-how-long since the last time he'd actually spoken out loud to someone. The other doesn't look like he cares about his inquiry, though, and instead increases his speed down the steps. Luke doesn't remember exactly how tall the building is, but he knows there's many more at this rate.

That thought, along with the fact that he's falling behind in their chase makes him jump to close the distance, almost losing his footing at the landing because when he reaches out for the handrail, his fingers glide right through it. When he finally rights himself, he picks up the pace as well to catch up.

Seemingly inspired by his show of diligence, the boy attempts a leap of his own, but misses a step at the bottom and goes down hard. With a departing yelp, he tumbles down the last few steps and smacks into the wall signaling the turn with all of his momentum. The fall looks painful as anything Luke has ever seen, and all the hopeful mirth drains from his face; in its wake is trickle by agonizing trickle of mortification.

"Holy shit, are you alright?" He slows to a stop a few paces away, watching in silent guilt as the guy examines himself. There is no blood, at least none that he can see, but there is definitely some major bruising and perhaps some swelling that is soon to come. When he decides nothing too incapacitating is amiss, he winces to sitting position and levels a reluctant gaze at Luke.

"I..." he makes to answer Luke's question, but pauses briefly, "No, I--uh--that was totally my fault." He directs his vision to the floor with a dejected gaze.

"Why were you running away from me anyway?" Luke prods carefully, assessing his companion's face as he processes the question.

"Listen man," he starts after a moment, obviously not inclined to answer the second question, "I know this is hard to hear, and it probably doesn't even make sense, but you... you're dead now." He looks up at Luke again, watching his reaction closely.

"Well I think I've realized that by now." He sighs and moves to sit as well and hopefully disarm the guarded look on the other man's face.

The guy just screws his eyes shut and tilts his head in a pained nod, bringing a hand to his head once again. "Fuck," he curses as he draws the hand back down into his lap, and Luke feels a pang of guilt through himself again.

"I didn't kill myself though." Luke blurts into the silence. He'd actually never thought that completely, but as the words come out of his mouth, he feels assured that they're true. He doesn't even need the memories of his life to understand that the pure terror he felt when he'd jumped after already being dead all that time was too unfamiliar to have been how he died in the first place.

The guy opens his eyes at the sound of Luke's voice, and nods lightly once more. "Yeah, I can tell. You looked more like a murder anyway."

Luke's eyebrows fall at the odd words, and the man seems to mistake his silence as balking at the statement. "Look, right here is not the best spot for this. We can go to my place and I can explain it better, okay?"

Luke gives the guy an assessing look as he thinks it over. He's wearing grey hoodie, ripped and frayed at the wrists and a scruffy pair of no doubt unintentionally distressed blue jeans. His bedraggled shoes were the most worn of all though, complete with a belt of duct tape around the toe painted white in a semblance of normality. Truly, they looked as though they were being held together by sheer willpower more so than any of its threads.

But then he also watches the tension in the guy's expression unwind, almost as if just the idea of being at home makes him more comfortable. Well, it wasn't like he had any reason to distrust the only person who'd even seen him in weeks, and he's already dead, so what's the worst that could happen? 

"Sure, sounds good." He nods and they both rise and head down that last few flights of stairs.

"I'm Luke, by the way." he supplies as they step out into the sunshine, but the guy doesn't react at all. At first Luke thought it to be a bit rude, but as people look and even speak through him, he realizes that he's being ignored because no one can see him. Even he can conclude that standing around talking to no one is pretty strange. But as he observes the crowd a bit more, he realizes that people are naturally giving them a wide berth. It was almost as if the other people could tell he was different, not knowing anything about him. Luke made a mental note to ask about it later.

 

* * *

 

The guy doesn't stop until they reach an apartment complex that Luke wouldn't give a second glance at if he was still alive. Although, a muted grey building with white trimming and a graffiti collage on the alley-side wall isn't much to blink at for most people anyway. They turn down a path leading to more buildings in similar condition, and Luke frowns. This can't be where he lives, can it?

Luke himself had never been especially well off, but he would never consider his family poor growing up either. They fit more snugly into the upper middle-class sector. He did believe he knew what poor looked like though, and despite his clothes, he refused to believe that this man lived in such bad conditions. He must have been taking a shortcut.

Only now, muddy tennis shoes with no recognizable brand were stomping up cement steps leading up to the second floor and Luke's eyebrows knit together as he follows.

"Sorry about earlier" he speaks up as the near the doors, and at first, Luke isn't sure if he's talking about running away or ignoring him until he continues, "But I'm sure you understand why I can't really talk to you in public. My name's Ryan." He throws Luke an exasperated smile over his shoulder as he routinely walks over to a door near the end of the corridor and pulls out a pristine silver key from his jacket pocket. The wooden door has a worn and chipped plastic address on the front, characters reading 6A bolted haphazardly to it. Is this really where Ryan lives?

"And sorry about this too, but it's gonna be a bit messy inside," Ryan grins apologetically, wrestling they key into the dubious looking lock and working it open with slight difficulty. When the old, creaky metal finally gives, he pushes the door open and lets them both in.

The interior really is a mess, but Luke gets the feeling that isn't entirely Ryan's fault. Chalky, inconsistent manilla walls are losing more than just their paint in the corners, and white carpeting is always a bad idea. But aside from those things, the room's mostly organized state convinces Luke that Ryan is a clean oriented person. He probably didn't even make those stains on the floor.

"It's not that bad." Is his leisure reply. Ryan reaches for a light switch that Luke half expects to flicker and blink into life, it would go with the rest of the working in this place.

Except the light just comes on, no humming or flickering included, prompting Ryan to plop onto the gently loved sofa and dig around for something underneath one of the cushions. He pulls a laptop out as if withdrawing it from a storage, and Luke raises an eyebrow when expectant eyes turn up towards him.

"You can start by just telling me anything you remember, as far back as you can go." He lifts a hand and drops it onto the back of the couch, and Luke stills at the smile he receives.

It occurs to him that Ryan really is trying his best here, and he gets the feeling that it isn't his first time of him having to go through this with someone. He looks tired and a little defeated, but undeniably means well by all this.

"I don't remember a lot," He confesses reluctantly, but when Ryan's look of support never wavers, he goes back as far as he deems relevant.

"I was at a party," Luke begins, and as he speaks the memories come back a little, "It was for me, At least I think it was... No I'm sure, I'm pretty sure I had done something, or gotten something. It definitely wasn't a birthday party." He can hear the soft taps of Ryan typing on his laptop as well.

"Maybe a graduation or something?" Ryan pipes and pauses the ticking of his note taking to level Luke with a curious glance.

"No but, similar..." Ryan nods and types some more, but Luke feels and odd sensation of confusion rise in his chest. It was as though the memories of that night had just been erased from his mind. "I remember a fight-- as in, I'm a boxer, so maybe it had to do with that."

He waits a moment for Ryan to asses and decide what he want to write, and eventually receives a nod,"Okay, you can go on," he encourages as he finishes typing, and Luke continues.

"There was a shit-ton of people there. I'm talking rooms all the way down the corridor full of people. I'm sure there was no way for me to know them all, and there were so many were people I hadn't seen in a while. Everyone was constantly taking pictures. And, for some reason I remember something about wild bananas." Luke's face contorts from introspection to back into confusion as his brain conjures up the hazy images.

"Sounds like an interesting party." Ryan chuckles as he types, flashing him a quick look of disapproval, but a good ' _your-friends-are-weird-people_ ' kind of disapproval. Luke would laugh lightly at the situation too, but a sobering thought arises.

"But, I remember some other stuff too." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "I remember standing by the door were you found me. I think I got into an argument with someone, or something like it. I was so angry and..."  _Sad?_

Luke pauses with the word on the tip of his tongue, almost tasting it, but something about it wasn't right. And suddenly, he is filled with the sensation of familiarity. The most vivid memory so far: he can feel the phantom flurry of emotions from that night wash over him again like a wave, and they go far beyond sadness.  _Betrayed._  His brain supplies with another hazy image: raised voices, the goosebumps left behind from a feral yell, and the only emotion that reaches deeper than anger. He had been deeply, deeply betrayed.

"Luke?" Ryan asks his silence, leaning to enter his field of view. Luke just shakes his head.

"Then, I stepped outside for some air, because I was just getting angrier and angrier. I slammed the door behind myself before I was pushed over the edge. I don't think I actually saw anyone out there, I didn't even think to check, really. But suddenly there was nothing but wind and sky around me, and I'm positive I didn't just walk off."

When Luke looks over, Ryan still has not continued clacking away at his keys. Instead, his eyes remain openly trained on Luke, hands slack at his sides. He has this expression on his face that's not quite legible, but Luke decides he doesn't like the way it makes him feel.

"After that it was just me up on that balcony for the longest until you showed." Finally, after a bit more hesitation, Ryan begins typing again.

"Any idea how long?" he asks quietly, and Luke meets his gaze as he thinks.

"A month, maybe two?" he hazards a guess, "It got pretty hard to keep track."

"That's okay," Ryan hums lightly and looks up at him, stalling the movement of his hands, "Time goes by a little funny when you're dead."

The words don't sit too nicely with Luke, but he doesn't say anything in retaliation. It really is going to take some getting used to it for him to easily joke about this. I mean, he was  _dead_  for god's sake. Instead of voicing this this thought though, he sits quietly as Ryan begins looking for anything online surrounding his death.

"Hey, I think I found something." He speaks up, after a while. "It says here that you were at a party a friend was hosting for you." Ryan pauses as though the statement is unfinished, and appears to read over it a few times before continuing. "And, that you won a UFC Championship against the former champion. It was big, huge even, televised apparently." He says in disbelief, and the words draw a gasp from Luke's lips.

Ah yes, that sure jogs the memory. It was the biggest event of his career, and it was even better when he won. How had he forgotten! Now, he didn't even have to guess at how so many people he barely spoke to somehow arrived at the party now. If he won something that huge, Jon was probably hosting the after-party, and you could bet on the fact that Evan was on the VIP list. And these days, if Evan was doing anything, his entourage was quick to follow in a mess of plus-ones and questionable invitations.

"It says that it was a tremendous party turned tragic when you committed suicide. There were no eyewitnesses in the vicinity, but no one else was believed to be there when you jumped off the balcony. It made the news."

"I didn't commit suicide," Luke's frown deepened, and he started pacing again, "I was murdered."

Ryan nods but doesn't say anything else, eyes scanning his laptop screen a few more times before he closes it and looks up a Luke.

"Wait. If you could have just looked it up, why did you ask me?" He laughs a little, but it feels empty, especially when Ryan just levels him with a admonishing look.

"I know you didn't commit suicide Luke, but the police don't, and that is a big issue for us. Right now, the best thing you could do for yourself is try to remember as much as you can." After he says this, his eyes soften and a shy smile graces his features. "But on the other hand, whoever pushed you might be a little easier to find since it's been so long. They've likely stopped being careful and keeping away from suspicious areas, thinking they've gotten away with this. I think that if we really work at it, we'll be able to find the bastard who did this to you." he giggles lightly, and Luke can't keep the small grin off his face.

He tames it though and nods, settling himself to the sound of Ryan's confidence. As much as he hates struggling to remember his own damn life, he must say that he hates being dead even more. If anything, he was stoked just to be away from that ledge and with someone who could see him, if if the guy might just be crazy.

"Thanks, man." He says with as much ingenuity as he can muster, and his faith is only strengthened by Ryan's winning smile.

Perhaps this whole being dead thing could work out for him...

 

 


	2. Like the Sun Shines on Your Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UwU guess who's stressed :)
> 
> Lmao, here's the next chapter, free from my cold, dead google docs. Hope you guys enjoy it!

Ryan is searching around for any guest lists of the party and trying to find out why the police aren’t investigating; just because Luke had fallen didn’t mean that it had to be suicide. But aside from the fact that it was in a rented party room, it was pretty informal. Luke knew that he’d been half aware up on that ledge for about two months, but it felt to him like two years with the fogginess of his memory. It was becoming maddening the way the details were just slipping through his intangible fingers. He tried not to stress about it too much, though, as Ryan told him it would probably take a while for everything to come back. Sometimes, unfortunate things just happen and there’s really nothing you can do about it.

Right now, he’s sitting down on the sofa next to Ryan, or rather, trying to. He can’t really feel it properly and either ends up floating a little above it, or sinking slightly into it. He wonders for a moment why he didn’t have this problem with floors, or the ledge he’d spent so much time on. Curiously, he turns to ask, but pauses when he catches a glimpse of the man next to him.

His face is completely focused, lips drawn into an impetuous little frown as he reads, and his face alight in part by the soft blue hue. Outside, the afternoon is passing and the daylight is waning, but enough sunshine flows through the open windows to give the room it’s own golden light. Across Ryan’s visage, the colors clash starkly rather than blending, and Luke watches cerulean-hued hazel eyes scan back and forth until their owner notices his staring.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, although Luke doesn’t ever hear him stop typing.

“Nothin’,” He mutters with a sigh, or something that sounds like it since he doesn’t breathe anymore. Ryan shoots him a quick look before returning to his work.

Luke moves to begin playing with the fibers spinning lose from the sofa, thoroughly bored once again, but the fabric glides through his fingers just like everything else. With a roll of his eyes, he diverts his attention from the couch and studies his hand for the first time. It’s both more transparent and more genuinely pale than what he can recall it being. Although, in his attention to the pigment of his… _(Body? It’s hardly a body now,)_  he notices himself become more solid, more like himself from his life. Intrigued, he focuses his attention correctly and puts forth a little energy, and surprisingly he seems to saturate. His manifestation strengthens until it is almost human like, flooding with color and opacity similarly to a picture.

Experimentally, Luke raises the now human-colored hand and places it on Ryan’s shoulder. He recoils immediately at the odd sensation, but curiosity overpowers the shock and he moves it back to prod at Ryan’s skin. His cold yet very real fingers catch on the living human’s body, and don’t pass through. He can feel the heat rolling off of him like a furnace, and the intricate patterns winding through the fabric of his old, fraying shirt. When Luke’s like this, he is also finally able to place himself on the couch correctly. He feels something spark within his chest at the revelation, the same kind of elation he’s felt when Ryan first spotted him, since that was the most resistance he’d felt since dying. He turns excited honey eyes towards Ryan, but only sees the other looking disdainfully at his hand.

“Do I look different to you too?” He asks, eyes searching Ryan’s own. The man redirects his gaze but doesn’t share the awe present in Luke’s.

“No. You look like you always do to me. But I see you’ve discovered how to manipulate your spirit matter.”

“Is that what I’m made of? Spirit matter?” He still pokes at an increasingly uncomfortable Ryan, simply getting used to this new sensation.

He glances away from the screen of his laptop again and into Luke’s eyes with a simple nod, and then he returns to his work. Luke raises a brow, but doesn’t say another word. In fact, he decides to stand and give Ryan his space.

Instead, he walks around and touches a few things around the living room, enjoying being able to feel again. Luke imagines that this is the state he was in when he was on the balcony, able to freely feel the rust and lime buildup on the railing. Now, he can bend over and feel the ratty carpet beneath his fingers, he can hold the empty iced tea cans, even weigh the thin plastic spoons on the bar. He can feel the rigid lines across the dry wall and the gritty wood beginning to peak from underneath, or the chipped covers and musty pages of the old books put away neatly on a shelf. He has to admit, it is nice to feel almost alive.

In all of his exploration, Luke does come across something that makes him pause. On a small coffee table tucked away in a hidden corner of the room was a stack of unopened mail. At the very top, there was a letter from Ryan’s electric company, and stamped in red on the front in bold text was  _‘OVERDUE’_. He stares at the letter for a moment, and his eyes scan the somewhat decrepit room before finally landing on Ryan’s unsuspecting form. He returns his assessing look to the small yet very prominent pile, but he doesn’t sift through it. Rather than bringing anything up either, he decides to pretend he didn’t see it.

He actually stumbles around for a little more before he thinks to push his focus in the other direction. He raises his hand and watches as it desaturates into translucence. It fades until he can’t even see it anymore.

And apparently neither can Ryan, because when he looks up, he sweeps his gaze through the room and right past him.

“Luke?” he calls out into the relative silence.

“Right here.” He says, but Ryan seems unable to hear him in this state as well. Odd.

He focuses and attempts to reappear, although not without some unsolicited effort. It seemed to require more energy to exist in any state other than his default semi-solidity.

Ryan jumps when he reappears, thoroughly unamused, much to Luke’s amusement. “What are you doing?” He asks when they calm, and Luke sets his eyes back down to his hand. It is the way it’s looked since he died: pale and slightly see-through, with the visual texture of a ray of sunshine in through a window from the outside.

“Just got a little restless, is all.” Luke shrugs and tosses out a teasing smile, but Ryan seems to take the words to heart anyway. His gaze travels to the water stained ceiling as he thinks it over.

“What I’m trying to figure out is why the police don’t think anything may have been off about your death. You don’t exactly seem like the type to… you know, do that.” He shifts his gaze toward Luke as he speaks.

The ghost frowns, and meets his eye. “I’d never kill myself, why would I even want to?”

“Well, suicide is a solution to a problem,” He begins in a way that seems totally rehearsed, “Depression, broken heart, financial problems, essentially anything can be catalyst, you know? But I would think that being in the position you were in, coming out of nowhere and winning the fucking UFC this year, none of those would be a pertinent to you.”

Ryan considers this for moment, and has a false start before seceding to the idea that’s been smoldering in the back of his mind.

“You know what, why don’t I just go down to the police station and find out for us?”

“They let people just do that?” Luke balks a little at the prospect of being able to simply strut down to ask the cops  _‘what’s the hold up?’_. But then again, he also would have laughed in the face of anyone who told him he would win the championship and then be executed at the after party.

Ryan answers with nothing more than a deviant smirk and a swift shrug, walking over to the corner to retrieve a light jacket and a ring of keys off of the coffee table Luke had stopped by earlier. He looks around the room quickly before giving Luke the motion to follow him.

 

* * *

 

At the police station, a sour faced woman with dark, black tresses highlighted in blond sends a dark glower at Ryan. She’s definitely some kind of receptionist or something similar, seated off behind a short bar and flanked on both sides by computers. She also has this odd look on her face, caught somewhere between trying to ignore Ryan and trying to scare him away. Luke doesn’t even have to wonder if she recognizes him.

“I need to speak with officer Wilde.” He says upon arrival.

She looks over her rounded glasses at him for a moment before sighing and shaking her head, “How many times have I told you this now? You’re a civilian, I can’t just let you waltz by and demand to see an officer because you feel like it. People come in here for emergencies, not to accuse people of being murdered.” The officer frowns and faces back to her computer, but Ryan doesn’t appear dissuaded.

Luke waits for Ryan to do something, but he just watches her, doesn’t leave or reply. She stares back with as much malice as she can muster, but is quickly overrun by her own building discomfort at Ryan’s disregard.

“Go away, I’m not sending you back there. We have many confidential projects going on that we cannot let you see. And it’s none of your business anyway.” She huffs.

Ryan just nods as she speaks, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together on her desk. She frowns but says nothing, reverting back to her tactic of ignoring.

She’s about halfway through the sheet of paper when she finally sighs again, propping her head up on her hand as she levels with Ryan and waiting for him to speak again.

“Officer Wilde.”

“He’s not here. You can leave.” She deadpans, refocusing onto her paperwork under the weight of their gaze. Ryan doesn’t move still, only sighing and shifting to inspect his nails. More time passes. Ryan taps his toes on the polished, linoleum floors, muddy shoes squeaking as he shifts his weight. She levels him with a cold stare, to which Ryan responds with unwavering silence, not breaking her gaze. After a second longer, she sighs and locks her borderline livid gaze with his for a striking moment.

“Listen kid, I know you want to help, but there are things you just can’t--”

“ _Officer_.  _Wilde_.” Ryan interrupts with a firmness Luke hasn’t come to expect from him. The woman grits her teeth, but ultimately decides to let someone else deal with it.

Perfectly manicured hands are thrown up in exasperation before she shakes her head, more to herself than either of them, and picks up the phone next to her desk.

At the unspoken confirmation, Ryan doesn’t even wait for her to hang up and direct him to the place in question, simply giving her a smug grin and waltzing down the hallway.

Surprised and slightly worried, Luke follows Ryan down a long corridor and what becomes a maze of cubicles. So that’s what Ryan meant earlier by the look he gave him. He was just going to get what he wanted by pestering everyone to death?

They don’t stop until they reach a larger sector of cubicles, dotted every once in a while by a phone post. At one of the phones, a slim cop is listening reluctantly, and when they round the corner, his face darkens.

Ryan easily parks himself at the entrance of a cubicle, ignoring the daggers being sent at him-- and inadvertently Luke-- by everyone else in favor for the single glare of a large man coiled almost comically in the small box. He’s watching like a hawk for them, staring out as though Ryan is the last thing he wants to see, ever. That doesn’t stop the man from making himself comfortable though and speaking right up.

“Luke Patterson’s death. You’re not investigating it but it’s suspicious.” Ryan blurts the moment he catches sight of the man, which only serves to deepen the directory scowl.

“No, it’s not. The only thing that’s suspicious is the way you show up here after every goddamned tragedy. You act like some creepy angel of death. Get out of here and go back home.” He shoots back sharp as a blade, already waving a dismissive hand back.

“Well, every time I’m here I’m right about it. Just tell me why you guys don’t think it deserves an investigation. Then, I'm out of your hair.” Ryan tries, replacing his pushiness with a more suggesting tone.

The cop, who Luke belatedly realizes must be the prophesied ‘Officer Wilde’, narrows his eyes at Ryan’s request, “Didn’t they tell you that these things are private? There’s laws prohibiting you from interfering with police investigations. We have a lot going on right now anyway, you shouldn’t even be here.”

“Yeah, I know, Sami told me. But this is important too.” Ryan says unevenly, and Luke find his eyes roaming along the surrounding offices. Unlike the people in the street, no one makes an effort to ignore him. In fact, every other cubicle sends an unabashed stare their way.

“Not as important as my paperwork right now, so get outta here.” Wilde says and renews his glower. When Ryan makes no move to do so, he sighs and looks up, much like the way the receptionist did before. “There is nothing I can do about your case. How do you even know know I was assigned it? For all you know you’re just wasting your own time.”

“I just know, Officer.” Ryan says back, exasperated, “The same way I know Luke didn’t kill himself.” But the man, seemingly uncaring towards the spectacle they were beginning, only raises Ryan’s exasperation to his anger.

“Except you  _don’t_  know. You come in here, like, once a month for your fairy tale stories and end up on the lucky side of an investigation. You don’t know anything about what goes on in this place aside from what you decide to stick your nose into, so stop acting like you do.” Ryan seems to be stunned into a brief silence, and Officer Wilde takes it as his cue to prompt him to leave. “Fuck you. The death wasn’t suspicious, now get lost, Nancy Drew.” He resurrects the motion from before, only this time it’s like he’s trying to swat Ryan out of the room.

“Listen Officer Wilde.” He begins after a moment, and the policeman throws himself back into his chair, “I told you already, I know. I know you were assigned the case just like I knew all those times before. I wasn’t lucky, I was right. Ask Minx, or Max, or even Adam. I know everything about what you do, and I always will.” Following that last part, the policeman sort of flinches. Ryan must be expecting a similar response though, as he proceeds without interruption, “Just give me one more chance. Please.”

The words, or perhaps the tone in which they are spoken, seems to strike a chord in the cop, because after they’re said, he levels an assessing look at Ryan. And in turn, the man in question sends back his own harsh stare, once again exhibiting to Luke a side he’s never expected to see. They watch each other for a minute, locked in the kind of stare down that often means something completely unrelated to the argument, before Officer Wilde is finally spurred into movement. He turns around in his chair to face a wall of filing cabinets.

“What’d you say the last name was?”

“Patterson, Luke Patterson” Ryan smiles lightly and finally approaches the desk. Luke finds the expression mirrored in his own face, even if it is slightly more exasperated as he just floats next to him and watches the two interact, honestly trying to analyze how Ryan was getting away with what very well may be a crime. Having to be there as Ryan weeddles everyone down to their breaking point was tiring work.

When he finds what he’s looking for, Officer Wilde drops a thin manila folder onto his desk, opening it where they can both see it. The first thing Luke notices is a picture himself, a close up of his face taken from his 29th birthday party, paper clipped to a crime scene analysis and other related footnotes. Wilde begins leafing through the short stack until he comes to a page with a list of names. On the other side is a photo that makes imaginary bile rise in Luke’s throat for two reasons. The first being that now he knows what a person looks like after a sixteen story jump to a floor of concrete, and the second being that that person was him.

He briefly flashes back to that moment on the ledge, a mix of desperation and no semblance of human inhibition, in which he had decided if he was dead, he wasn’t getting any deader. He feels the emotions rush over him in a dark tidal wave, realizing again with so much ferocity that there’s no way he could have done it in his life. He shivers, and several other people in the room get chills with him. If Luke could have seen the thermostat over in the corner, he would have watched the temperature drop off in tangent.

“Look at this,” Officer Wilde says quietly, twisting the file so that it was right-side-up for Ryan, “This is not what it looks like when people are murdered. There was not any sign of a person other than Patterson here who wanted him dead. He wasted himself.”

“He didn’t.” Ryan says, but it's all the strength it had before. Perhaps it was that unsettling picture.

“All the evidence points to it being a suicide. Trust me, I paid special attention just like I knew I would have to for your--.” The officer interrupts himself and shakes his head, “You’re just gonna have to let this one go. There really is nothing to do here; there is no investigation.” Ryan shakes his head back and leans forward about to argue again, but this time the officer continues.

“Look Ryan, I know that I let you down when I dealt with your parents murders, they didn’t deserve it-- you didn’t deserve it, but this is--”

“It’s not about that! Luke didn’t kill himself, I just know it, alright? Tell me what you’d need to reopen the case.” Ryan raises his voice a bit too much in his fervency, but doesn’t recoil when he notices the attentions he’s gathered. His chest heaves as he takes a deep, steadying breath, lining his eyes with the Officer’s.

“Please, Tyler. Just do this.”

The policeman’s gaze flickers up to meet Ryan’s at the use of his first name. He stares for a while, just allowing the course of his words to run. After a moment he sighs.

“At this point we’d need explicit means, motive, and opportunity for a suspect. But let me warn you; everyone on the guest list at the party had at least one person around them at all times, except, you know the potential victim. What would really help you is a confession, and that would require a witness, you know, someone other than you saying they heard it.” Officer Wilde speaks slowly, almost reluctantly, but looks genuinely at Ryan, “You get all that, and we open the case up again.”

Ryan nods and comes to a sudden stand that jostles the potted plant neatly placed on the corner of the cops desk, but dithers at the entrance of his cubicle. His footing becomes especially unsure when the officer gives him an expectant glare.

“Thank you,” He says in slight grunt and once again, which seemed to be a theme with the policeman, the words strike deeper than that.

The man looks as though he wants to say something back, something just as genuine, but Ryan doesn’t wait. Officer Wilde stares after his retreating form, some look on his face caught between regret and something Luke can’t quite place before he slips from his reverie and attends to his coworker's attention.

Luke makes to follow Ryan away, but just as he is escaping earshot, he hears the unmistakable mumble of his last name. He turns back, and catches the head end of a short conversation between another policeman and Officer Wilde. They sound disgruntled for sure, but it seems to be irrelevant to anything but the fact that his case details were supposed to be confidential, and that Ryan wouldn’t be able to come back...

‘I doubt that...’ He thinks as he carefully maneuvers to the exit.

He considers what they’re going to do about this whole thing, being that they’d ended up in precisely the same situation they were in before coming, but ultimately decides that first he’ll ask about what that was back there concerning Ryan’s parents. Had he been able to see ghost before they were killed, or did it come as a result? Did he see their ghosts? Did he not want to talk about it? 

When he finally phased through the wall leading to the outside, Ryan was leaning against the building a short ways down the street, staring at a watch and waiting for him. He’d forgotten that Ryan had work too. When Luke joined him he smiled and presumably took off into the direction of his job.

“Uh… Listen, Ryan… I’m sorry about you parents. I know that stuff can---”

Ryan’s shoulders tense and he stops in the middle of the sidewalk, “Just... don’t, dude.” He breathes in response, trying not to let anyone else hear him.

Luke frowns and shakes his head, trying to decide how to segue his concern, “Well, I mean I know I don’t have the full story, but--”

“Don’t!” Ryan snaps, whirling around to glare at him. Luke feels guilt rise as he sees people rush past and whisper conspiratorially, “Just don’t. Go home and wait for me and don’t follow me to work. Ever.”

Luke fans out a breath into the dusky air, eyes focusing on the faint but surely present puffy cloud before he gives a distant nod. Ryan spins back around and rushes off, stomping away from the scene without so much as a glance back. The crowd of people either running, staring, or both part for him like the Red Sea, and just like the moment they met, he doesn’t think about trying to make Luke feel alive and real.

Instead, he leaves him floating dead and alone outside the police station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind words on the last one, by the way. I actually really was nervous about it and the comments really eased my nerves.
> 
> And I definitely have plans to include other ships and characters and give them their own glory (and if you read my last work you know I'm not very subtle) so feel free to let me know who else you may want me to throw in!
> 
> Okay, that is all. Have a nice day.)


	3. Like the Wind Still Blows Through Your Hair

Luke doesn't follow Ryan to work that night, or any night for that matter.

He considers going to see Jon at his house, to see how he's holding up, but decides he probably couldn't handle that alone. Partially because he has no idea what secluded sector of town Ryan lives in or how to get to Jon's place from it, but mostly out of fear of what may happen. Either one: Jon will be fine, which would be a little heartbreaking on one hand and a little audacious on the other. Or two: he would be a mess of suppressed emotions and social withdrawal that he doesn't like the idea of being unable to pacify. He decides to wait a while for finding out.

Instead, Luke floats around trying to familiarize himself with the area he will most frequent while Ryan is gone. He does a little people watching, and notices a few other ghosts stuck to places like he had been. They never seem to notice him, so after a short deliberation he doesn't interfere. 

But he can't quite keep himself out of everything. Especially when he accidentally wanders too far out of where he'd delegated his invisible lines, and into the cemetery. It's a morbid sort of curiosity that drives him to his own grave, but to his relief, it's actually pretty nice. The tombstone says only his name and his lifespan, but its surrounded by plenty of fresh flowers and a few unlit candles, and that brings a watery-eyed smile to his face.

Between shifts over the next few days, Ryan manages to compile a rough list of everyone who was at the party the night he died, along with a group of staff members who were working their floor. None of the names leap out at Luke as someone who may want to kill him, but unfortunately he's got a rather annoying mental block about that part. Ryan says it likely has something to do with the conversion of short and long term memory being interrupted by concrete to the brain at exceedingly high speed. Luke thinks that he's being an insensitive dick but concedes his argument.

Right now, Ryan is sitting on the floor with his laptop on the coffee table in front of him, holding his head up on his hand as he does a makeshift background check on the guest list, aside from anyone Luke could specifically vouch for. Luke is behind him on the sofa and trying to focus on not falling through it. He's pretty impressed with Ryan, although he has turned up with absolutely nothing of value, he remains dedicated to trying. Any time the man isn't sleeping or working, he's doing research for Luke.

Upon thinking this, Luke redirects his vision from the chipping, water-stained wallpaper to the mass of brown hair scrolling through page after page of search results. His soft face is dimly lit by the blue hues of his screen. Ryan is definitely pale, but the differing images across his laptop splay black and white and cyan across his gentle features, brightening them, even. Now that he thought about it, Luke has hardly seen the guy spend any time outside during the day. He works the graveyard shift and sleeps through the mornings and early afternoons, then spends the rest of his time trying to help out Luke. In such a tight schedule, he can't help wondering where this guy's life is.

"Hey," Luke speaks up after a moment of this thought, "You been at this for a while now..."

"When I find something I'll go investigate, but until then this is what we're stuck with. Sorry if I'm boring you."

"No it's not that, I jus' mean your friends must think you straight up disappeared or somethin'. I'm glad you're so... involved, but I'm not gettin' any deader over here." Luke points out with a huff of a laugh. Actually, he's never seen Ryan call anyone at home. Unless he spends all his time at work on the phone, which Luke strongly doubts considering his hours and his ancient flip phone, he's basically become a hermit. He only uses it when he has something important to say to Luke while they're in public.

"Oh." Ryan says and pauses. His gaze distances itself for a brief moment before he shakes his head lightly and sends a dismissive wave in Luke's direction. "Don't worry about that, I'm fine."

Except, it's not fine. Luke really hasn't seen Ryan socialize with anyone besides the mean cops at the station, and that was angry and heated.

"You sure? I--"

"What time did you say to go see Jon?" Ryan interjects before Luke could get the question out, but the obvious subject change is not lost on him. He watches hazel eyes shine with something like a plea before he just sighs and decides to save it for another time.

"Um... sometime after nine I guess. But before ten-thirty. He'll close up the front desk at about eleven so we'll need enough time to get in and get out."

"Well we'd better get going then. Its almost eight." Ryan stands quickly and gathers his things, rearranging what he will leave and packing what he will take. They leave and even when Ryan walks quickly, it takes a moment for him to direct them to the right place. The gym is definitely not anywhere this part of town, and Ryan seems to have a hard time navigating anywhere that was not his own neighborhood.

However, all the excitement Luke feels transforms into anxiety when the outline of the building looms into view. He forgot to consider how it would feel to be back and not be seen by anyone. How does he deal with being in those walls and never lifting another weight, never laughing with his trainer, never even speaking to Jonathan again? God, this whole thing was so unfair. He didn't do anything to deserve to die, he knew he had so much to live for. Not only did he have the country's most watched annual boxing championship under his belt, but he had a killer team and group of friends backing him up as well. Now, he was going to have to watch the lives of those precious people pass by without him in it.

That train of thought runs deep, and when Luke finally steps off, he returns to Ryan standing outside the gym doors looking lost and afraid. Unintentionally, he lets out a small laugh.

"What do I say to him?" He asks after he raises the flip phone to his ear. Luke wouldn't have thought of it himself, but it is extremely convenient for looking not-crazy while talking to ghosts.

"Well, don't tell him you're a cop, or a journalist, or anythin' like that. He won't like that." Luke supplies, and smirks when he sees Ryan forcibly resist the urge to level him with an unimpressed look.

"Then what  _do_  I say to him?" He scowls, and Luke snickers.

"Tell him you're my friend, obviously." He shoots back. God, is he going to have to do all the work?

"But he's never met me. He probably won't believe that."

"Just do it, Ryan." Luke assures in that no-nonsense tone and scythes a kick through Ryan's back. It slips through like a hot knife in butter, but Ryan yelps and trips himself of to get away, and with nowhere else to go, finally tumbles through the doors.

But Luke disconnects from any of the interaction when he is hit with the scent of the place. It's definitely not a nice one (how nice can a bunch of sweaty guys and gals smell), but it is so painfully familiar that it slams right into his chest like a freight. The inside is so busy and as full of life as it's ever been, just minus him. Shaking away from another bout of intrusive thoughts, Luke directs Ryan to the back's employee entrance.

In the staff directory, he spots Jon long before Ryan does. He's quietly ordering some new worker to do something, and if Luke had a functioning heart, it would be in his throat. Ryan seems to be in the same predicament as he shakily wanders up with only the slightest direction from Luke.

"Hey man, are you lost? Nobody's 'posed to be back here." Jon gestures to the sign on the door and raises a brow at Ryan. Luke feels the rush of emotions from before return in high tide when he hears that voice.  _'Ah, that's my Delirious',_  he finds himself thinking, lips upturning unconsciously.

"You're Jon, right?" Ryan asks and ignores the command.

"Yeah," Jonathan replies, confused and slightly suspicious.

"And you work with Luke, right?" He seems to hesitate, before, "I-I'm his friend, I guess."

"You guess?" The man laughs suddenly, and Ryan feels a blush creep up as the blue eyes sparkle with mirth.

"I mean... I didn't know him long, but... I-I mean, we could have-- I mean, we were--" Ryan flounders, and the small grin melts off Luke's face. He swears this guy is going to be the second death of him.

"Tell him you work at the practice ring." He says, and watches the realization dawn.

"I worked at the practice ring! I mean, I still do-- work, not worked-- just not right now, of course. Uh, because I'm...yeah." Ryan trails off, but Jon picks up right where he left off.

"Really? What's your name? How come I never seen you there?" He asks, voice with an odd tune to it. Luke prays to whatever will listen that he buys Ryan's incompetent lying for the time being.

"I'm Ryan." The brunette seems to be relieved to finally have a question he actually knows the answer to.

"He never talked 'bout you." Jon says simply, and Luke feels the hope drain away once again. Of course Jon would know everything about him. And of course he wouldn't recognize Ryan. The man could be pretty absent minded sometimes, but when it came to keeping up with Luke, he was sharp as a knife.

"Oh," Ryan says quietly, and another thing occurs to Luke in that moment. In Jon's mind, what would separate Ryan from any fan coming up to ask questions about him? The man has probably had to deal with a ton of that on top of his own own grief. On one hand, the gym was a pretty quaint, members-only professional-sports-player spot and not many people knew about it. But on the other, more private things had been leaked about celebrities than where they worked out. Oh hell.

Jon stands there for a moment and just watches Ryan, who looks frankly pathetic. Under the echos of voices and workout equipment coming from elsewhere in the room, he is clearly uncomfortable, and Luke feels embarrassed  _for_  him. The owner's expression softens finally, and once more Luke internally rejoices. He knows that look: Jon had decided that he likes Ryan.

"Sorry, Luke doesn't really talk about people anyway. You probably didn't know about me either, right?" He lets out what Luke notices is a definitely forced courtesy laugh to release the tension, and Ryan follows suit with one of his own and a shake of his head. Jonathan quickly schools his expression quickly though.

"But, I-I mean... you know, he's not really... Luke passed away a little while ago." Luke winces a little. There it is. That hint of hardness in Jonathan's tone behind the usually easy going mutters. Luke had dubbed it his 'serious voice', and always got it when he was talking about something important. His eyes squint as though the words physically hurt to come out of his mouth, and Luke is sure he feels the corresponding twinge in his own chest.

"I know. I talked to the police, uh, I know a guy there and they think Luke killed himself." Ryan says lightly, but it does nothing to quell the expression on Jonathan's face. 

"He didn't. Someone killed him." Jonathan says darkly, and while it is heartbreaking to see his best friend like this, he has to say that the faith in him is reassuring. He insists it with such certainty, so much pride and disappointment in the same words.

"I understand that, but the cops don't. They guy I know said that if I could find some proof that Luke didn't... uh... do that.... then they would re-open the case and try to catch whoever did kill him. I've been trying to work out who might have done it from the guest list for the past few days, but nothing is really coming up. So, I thought I might talk to you to see if there's anything you might know that we--I mean--  _I_  don't." Ryan corrects himself quickly but Luke's heart, had it been beating, definitely would have stuttered just like Ryan did.

Jonathan gives him an uncharacteristically assessing look, obviously thinking what Luke had been thinking this whole time. Why was this near stranger working so hard for someone he hardly knew? And Luke knew it was even deeper than that. Ryan didn't know him at  _all_  before he died. If he just would have kept ignoring him, eventually Luke would have genuinely gone away, no longer restricted to the balcony. But he didn't. Instead, he was spending all his free time and, quite frankly, embarrassing himself all over town just to help him out.

"I know why he liked you." Jonathan speaks up again, seeming to fade out of thought just as Luke did, "You're jus' like him. Alright, I'll answer your questions."

Ryan seems taken aback at the sudden compliance, but does  offer up a shy smile. Jonathan returns the expression with much more gusto, before he stops what looks like a random person in passing. "Hey, tell Squirrel he's in charge until SPADs are done. I gotta handle some stuff." He says, and the young man nods and takes off in a different direction, presumably to follow the order.

"SPADs?" Ryan asks as he follows Jon back to his office, and Luke is glad because he hasn't the foggiest clue what that means. As far as he knew, Jonathan left in about an hour, and that there was no organizations using the space. Had things really changed that much in the time he'd been gone?

"Uhh," Jonathan looks somewhat at a loss as he leads them to his office, which Luke is glad to see hasn't changed much at all. Although, he does notice a framed photo of himself and Jonathan that hadn't been there, taken a few months before his death. "It...uh... stands for Self Protection and Defense classes."

"Oh," Ryan's smile returns, and he and Luke both watch as the image of people arranging mats and filing into the empty yoga room disappear behind the heavy office door. "That sounds really cool."

"Yeah," Jonathan looks a little less than ecstatic about it though. "The Gym started offering them after Luke... passed." His soft blue eyes trailed to a distant corner off the room as he spoke, and Ryan's mouth formed a silent 'oh' of understanding. They stood there for an awkward moment, before Jonathan gestures offhandedly to a chair situated in front of his desk. Ryan takes the offered seat and waits patiently for Jonathan to welcome him to speak.

Luke is happy to report that the place has hardly changed since he'd last been inside. The only things he didn't recognize were a stuffed teddy bear with a red ribbon around his neck holding a  _'get well soon'_  card, and a framed photo of the two of them at a baseball game. Other than that, Jon's place was still very minimalist.

He seems to struggle a little with deciding what he should or shouldn't say to Ryan, teeth gnawing at pale pink lips until he finally decides simply on the truth.

"I'll be honest with you,  I haven't slept a whole night since Luke passed." He says, voice somewhere between a mumble and one big sigh, "I just, I think about how in any--  _any_ \-- other situation, he could'a taken the guy that did this to him. But he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he didn't even get to fight for his life." He stared blankly down at the wood textures for a moment, before his eyes tracing down the photo.

"And I just got to thinkin' about how he's not the only one. When those shitty cops dropped his case after two days, callin' it a suicide, there were so many other accidents. People just walking out in front of cars, people bein' found in back alleys, just a bunch of other people being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And of course I know I can't go back and save Luke, but I wanted to do something to help keep other people from winding up in situations they can't control."

The room was deathly still, only the hum of Jon's computer and the air conditioner worked across the silence.

"Jon..." Luke breaths the word out so that it sounds just like a sigh. He wishes that for a moment, for just a second, he could reassure him.

"Anyway," John sighs for real, eyes settling on the photo once more, oblivious to Ryan tracking that sad smile as the fond memories gave way to the depressing truth, "You think you know who might'a done it?"

Just like the bittersweet blanket covering the room now, Ryan doesn't miss the homesickness that pretty much radiates from Luke. He can't, especially not with looking over the owner's shoulder and seeing the pure longing written across the ghost's face.

"We-- I mean,  _I_ haven't exactly figured it down to one person." Ryan tries to ignore the looks on the other faces in the room, "We think it may have been Mark, you know, the guy he went up against. But his agent had an alibi for him."

"An' you believe that?" Jonathan ask, voice slightly louder than necessary in the small room.

"I mean, she could be lying for her client but... I just, I don't know." At the lightly scorned face Jonathan makes, Ryan hurriedly backtracks, "No, not like  _that_. I get that Luke must have embarrassed him and all that, but I'm pretty sure Mark would have more to lose than to gain in killing him, right?"

The face Jon makes very clearly say that it is not right.

"That bastard had everythin' to gain." He growled out, shocking both Luke and Ryan with the convection in his words, "Before the fight, Luke was jus' some nobody with everythin' to prove. It was his first championship, and everybody knows that ring is different from all the others. It should'a been an easy win for an experienced fighter who already had a name in the place like Mark, but Luke stomped him. On TV. A big national fighter like that losing to a first timer? That's bad." Jonathan's voice had taken on a thoughtful but shaky tone toward the end.

But something cold and steely took over after that exclamation. "He's who I would've had my money on." He says, that grimace returning again.

Luke frowns at the words and pushes himself backwards, but he is suddenly rushed with the sickly sensation of deja vu, even though nothing was happening. His eyesight fogs over like milky glass, and he is forcefully subdued by a recent yet somehow distant memory. It's odd, to far out of his reach for him to recollect, yet just close enough for him to realize that it's there. Like trying to recall a specific word. Was it the night of the party?

"I guess that just means we're missing something." Ryan says quietly, oblivious to Luke's thoughts.

He screws his eyes shut and looks down. This was hell. He would give anything just to talk with Jon for five minutes, but he knows that there was no way he could. And now, with this thin tendril of thought in his head, weak and pale but present all the more, it was like watching an interaction on television, or through a glass window.

Ryan's soft eyes slip over to Luke's form, scanning him for all the hurt and confusion before settling on a subject change.

"Do you ever wish you could talk to people after they're gone?" He asks into the silence, and Jon finally looks up from the desk while Luke's eyes snap to attention. His brow furrows as he watches Jon toss the idea around before speaking again.

"I do regret the last thing I said to him." He says after a moment, "When you argue with someone, you never think that it will be the last thing you ever say to each other." 

Luke feels himself recoil in shock. Of course! How had he forgotten? That night at the party, he was reeling in shock from their argument out on the balcony right before he was pushed. And just as the thought struck him, the memory solidified.

* * *

 

_I was standing out in the wind, teeth grit and fists clenched in barely contained rage._

_"What do you mean?" I hissed, watching for any signs of deception in his face. I'd won dammit, wasn't that what he wanted?_

_Clearly not._

_"You really don't know what you just did?" Jon growled back, his own hands gripping the railing until his knuckles were white above the bone. "You went out there and threw everything Damien said to the trash! Did you listen to him at all?" He practically shouted back._

_Well, I could shout too. "No! I did what you wanted me to do: win!"_

_On the other side of the glass door, cheers from the people inside peaked to an eruption, before quickly petering out._

_Jon shook his head and reached fro the handle, glaring daggers on his way in._

_"You didn't do what you were supposed to, and you definitely didn't do it for me. The only person you were fighting for was yourself." He says, finally at a level tone, before passing through and slamming the door after himself._

_I bit down on my lip until I tasted copper and turned away from the door, releasing a scream that came from the soles of my feet to the tip of my tongue._

* * *

 

Luke blinked a few times, taking a few deep breaths and staring around the room. He wasn't on the balcony, he was in Jon's office, Ryan in front of the desk. But, for a moment, he had been real. The memory was crisp and clear despite being maybe a minute at most. The sensation of cold wind on his skin, the gritty and unkempt metal under his hand, even the fabric of his socks in his shoes, they were all so refreshingly  _real_   and  _alive_ that it stuck to the forefront of his mind like glue.  _God_ , how did he forget?

"You fought the last time you saw each other?" Ryan asks, and sits up straighter in his seat.

"NO," Luke says, and Ryan visibly flinches. "He would never do that! Argument or not!" he says frantically next to the psychic, but it's too late.

"I didn't kill him because of that, if you're trying to go down the same route as the cops did." Jon says distantly, and Luke frowns. HI best friend had found out he'd died unpleasantly, and then was hauled in as a suspect right after?

"I wasn't going to say that." Ryan says, nothing but earnest simplicity in his voice. Luke and Jon both watch him carefully at that, but all they see is blunt honesty.

"Well then, call this number tomorrow." Jon says finally and scribbles something down on a sheet of paper. He rips it off the bottom and slides it across the table to Ryan. "It's for Mark's trainer. I gotta go, but he may be able to help."

Ryan's eyes widen at that, but he picks it up and places it into his pocket. "Thank you." He says, but Jon just waves him away.

"It's the best I can do right now, but if you find anything, let me know." He tries for a light smile and stands, so Ryan follows suit, opening the door and leading him out.

Of course, the walk home is comfortably silent. Luke spends the entire duration replaying the scene on the balcony in his head. As much as he hates what happened, he can't stop himself from craving that light dose of reality, of what is was like to be alive.

When Ryan pushes open his door and checks the time on his laptop, he sighs in relief of the fact that it's Saturday and he doesn't work. He plops down onto the couch and turns his eyes to Luke.

"Our first lead." He says around a yawn, and Luke chuckling lightly along.

"Our first lead." He smiles and agrees.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... this kinda sucks lol. I had rough time getting this where I wanted it, and an even rougher summer but you know what? The next one will be a HUGE step up at least. I don't know. The ending was so rushed, but I knew that if I kept staring at it in my docs, I would never be satisfied. Whatever. This could be better, so i'll just focus on making the next chapter (which is already written and I'm actually excited for) amazing.
> 
> :) My bad.
> 
> P.S. I'll be back later to edit out the mistakes i missed the first ten times

**Author's Note:**

> Finally! There may still be some mistakes and I will definitely fix them later, but I knew that if I didn't get this out now, I would never be satisfied. Feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts UwU.


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